


Tritonos Paradoxon

by 0plus2equals1



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Xenophilia, a date with amy g, multi stage orgasms just like a boss fight, questionable use of the covenant system, self indulgent gift fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 08:43:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11551623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0plus2equals1/pseuds/0plus2equals1
Summary: The hunter grows curious about the many Amygdala lurking in the Unseen Village. They get far closer to one of them than they had expected.





	Tritonos Paradoxon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sugarboat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/gifts).



After suffering several embarrassing defeats courtesy of the hunters camping upon the shattered Hypogean Gaol lantern, the hunter was simply fed up. The exhausting gauntlet of infested wolves and pus-dripping riflemen was becoming trite. The overstuffed caskets and wailing Yharnamites plucked at their raw nerves. The Unseen Village was a knot that refused to be unraveled and the razor-sharp twine simply shredded their fingers.

What truly set them off was the presence of the monstrously arachnid Amygdalae that seemed to hang from every rooftop. Some emitted blasts of hot white light and swung curled claws at the hunter but their attacks seemed almost lazy, at leisure, made simply to revel in the chaos it caused among hunter and villagers alike. The rest simply _lounged_ upon their perches as the hunter scurried beneath them like an aimless ant.

There was one just outside their lantern that became the target of their ire. Its impassive presence offended the hunter in a way they couldn’t quite define. Their finger tapped the handle of their cleaver as they glared at it, their thoughts growing murky with ill intent. They began pacing along the balcony, searching for a spot that would allow them to reach the creature.

It took a few moments before an observation sliced their thoughts with clarity; the Amygdala was watching them move.

They ducked left, then right; the head of the creature swiveled subtly to follow them. They tossed a pebble. It ricocheted off its skull and fell to the shadowed streets below.

They felt their goals shifting; not to hurt the thing but instead just elicit any form of response. The hunter was nothing if not a creature driven by curiosity and they wanted to see how far they could push the Amygdala’s patience.

To their astonishment, as soon as the idea to do so solidified in their mind the Amygdala responded. They dashed backwards, wary, as the creature began to stir. The Amygdala did not move with any particular litheness or grace, but each movement was heavy and deliberate in a way that intrigued the hunter. It was not careful but tactical. Without hesitation, it swung its abdomen forward and reached for the balcony. Its spindly fingers curled around the bannister as it drew towards the hunter. The leathery tendrils beneath its skull waved like underwater foliage, on occasion abruptly twitching as it sensed for the hunter’s presence. Distracted by its movement, the hunter found that they had retreated all the way to the other end of the balcony and their back was pressed against the carved stone railing.

The Amygdala completed its descent and spread its limbs widely, effectively cornering the hunter who was now beginning to regret their impulses. A gnarled hand reached towards them and the hunter dodged forward only to have to slide beneath a second grasp. They had almost dashed past its tail end before another massive hand plucked them from the ground by the ankles. The hunter grasped wildly at the sickly weeds sprouting from the cobblestones as they were pulled into the air.

They were several feet up when the Amygdala dropped them; they tucked their head against their chest and hoped the impact against the stones wouldn’t break their spine. Their relief at landing softly was short-lived as they realized they had landed in one of Amygdala’s palms. Its fingers wrapped around and constricted them, pushing with dangerous pressure against their ribcage. The hunter wriggled vainly in its grasp. Blood pounded in the back of their head as they noticed a growing arcane glow about the Amygdala’s hand.

They saw flowing blues and purples spotted with glittering starlight. The colors emitted a silent song that they knew their blood was singing back. The heated writhing inside them amplified, rising to a frenzy that made their thoughts boil and pain strike them through from head to heel. The hunter cried out as their vision flickered with hazy red and black.

When they could see again their back was flat against the ground. Their body ached sharply and felt at the edge of unconsciousness. It took a few moments for them to realize that the dark form blocking out the sky above them was the Amygdala crouching over their prone form.

They watched the creature warily as they snaked their hand into their pocket in search of blood vials. The elongated head hung above them, and the hunter stared into its shadowy depths as they searched. Within the latticework of bone were sunken, pus-yellow eyes that they could just barely see roving lazily, some focused on the hunter beneath while others gazed out at the periphery.

They felt the smooth glass of the vial slip against their gloves and they struggled to fish it out. Slowly, carefully, they positioned it between thumb and index finger before sliding the vial down to their thigh. With one quick decisive movement they slammed the injecting end against their leg—only for the Amygdala’s hand to swipe at their arm and send the half-emptied vial skittering against the pavement.

The hunter felt better, but not by much; they felt some of their ribs reaffix themselves and a few muscles in their shoulders knit together. The main concern was now the massive hand pressing against their arm, firm enough to keep them prone but not hard enough to hurt them.

Struggling to understand what exactly the Amygdala was doing, the hunter decided to make a gesture of goodwill. Since the creature was neither killing them nor letting them retreat, there must be _something_ it was looking for. The hunter hooked their thumb around their pistol, removed it from their belt, and pushed it a few feet away from them before lifting their hand with spread-open fingers.

If the Amygdala appreciated the action the hunter could not tell, because the creature quickly pinned their other arm to the ground. It leaned forward heavily, pushing down on the hunter and drawing its head close to their chest. A third hand wrapped around their stomach and the Amygdala suddenly pushed off against the ground and rocked backwards. The hunter was lifted by the waist as it sprawled out on its back, its forelimbs curling in to prod at the hunter. A claw hooked under their neck. Another dragged sharply across their chest. The hunter hissed through their teeth as a few punctured cloth and scraped the tender skin of their inner thigh.

The wind whistled in their ears as each grip relented and they fell. They landed with a thud on the Amygdala’s chest. In the cavity between its riblike protrusions the hunter could feel an emanating dry heat, not unlike standing at the fringes of a fire.

They had barely managed to rise to their knees when the Amygdala grasped them by the cowl and lifted them once more. They dangled limply in its grasp. The arcane glow surrounded them again and the hunter prepared for death.

Though they could feel the frenzy rising it never reached its usual peak; they felt the inside of their head churning as the Amygdala lifted them to the protrusion of tentacles beneath its head. They weakly tried to jerk away as the growths wrapped around them.

Something slimy and dense plopped onto their shoulder and slid slowly down their back. The hunter shuddered. Just as the tentacles writhed around their body, so could they feel the presence of the Amygdala’s mind tightening around their own. It was searching for something—they could feel the tug of it sorting through memories, reflexes, impulses—

Heat flushed through them and they were forced to contend with the sudden needy ache between their legs. The grasping tendrils dispersed just as the sensation of them sliding against the hunter’s skin felt pleasurable and the Amygdala lowered them back down to its chest.

The hunter came to realize as warmth wriggled through their gut and clawed hands plucked at their clothes that it may be _their_ patience that would end up being tested. As the Amygdala extricated them from their overcoat another hand pushed them further down, taking the hunter to the lower curve of its spine. The hunter was able to sit, albeit a bit uncomfortably, in the leathery ridges between its legs.

They saw that their undershirt was damp with blood and sweat and clung to their flushed skin. Their pants felt tight and rubbed against their groin but the Amygdala made no move to undress them further. Instead, a claw pressed against the nape of their neck and guided their head downwards—the hunter wondered absently how the creature knew to manipulate them so, and how many others it might have ensnared—and the Amygdala pushed their face against a thick crease of skin. A bent knuckle reached up between their thighs and lifted them slightly, and the hunter rocked back against the needed pressure as they bit back a moan. After a few seconds, the contact woefully ended and the sharp nail on their neck scratched harshly. The implication was clear: if the hunter wanted more, they would need to earn it.

Head hazy with want, the hunter slid their fingers against the skin it had directed them to; it seemed to swell incrementally with the continued attention. The lower portion of the crease had begun to lift up and away from the body and the hunter could feel sticky, wet residue in the cavity that was revealed. They attempted to push their tongue inside. It was ocean-salty and bitter and unpleasantly thick but the Amygdala rewarded them with a finger lightly dragging along their hips so they persevered, pushing the tip of their tongue against increasingly softer flesh.

The Amygdala unfolded further beneath them and the hunter could see the freshly exposed tissue. It had a sort of oil-slick quality, the colors shifting subtly as the hunter moved their mouth against it. The cavity extended further down and in, forming a sort of pouch that the hunter pushed their hand inside. The hunter felt something hard deep within, their hand engulfed past the wrist, and when they rubbed thumb and forefinger against it they felt the massive body of the Amygdala shudder around them. The hands tracing over their thighs flexed and tightened. The hunter could sense the creature’s own pleasure in the back of their own head, a high-pitched sensation that seemed to rise and rise in tone but never end. Their own body was singing it back in return, a dissonant duet, as arousal boiled inside them but found no release no matter how hard they tried to rut against the Amygdala’s fingers.

The hard organ twitched beneath their palm. It made a popping noise and crumpled inward. A thick substance poured out of it and the hunter instinctively pulled their hand away, most of the substance pulling out with them. Their arm slipped out from the pouch with a wet pop. The paste that now coated them up to the elbow was dense and coated in a slick of orange oil. The hunter squashed a greasy blob of it between their fingers.

More of the paste was exuding from the crease. Despite the appearance of release, the hunter still felt the Amygdala’s excitement. There was more to be done. It pushed their head back down, smearing their face in its emittance. The hunter tried their best to keep it from going up their nostrils. It got in their mouth and spread thickly on their tongue. They felt utterly incapable of identifying the taste of it.

A claw guided their hand back into the wet pouch. Something long and ropy had sprouted from the collapsed organ and it wrapped around their fingers. The frenzied piping in the back of their head began to crescendo. The covering flap of skin distended further and the hunter felt the Amygdala’s hands tearing at their trousers. Lightheaded and feverish, the hunter did their best to finish disrobing and repositioned their hips to be just above the Amygdala’s inner flesh, guiding the writhing growths pulsing around their hand to between their legs. They let out a low sound as they made contact and finally began to satisfy their starving arousal.

They didn’t know how long the Amygdala kept them mounted there; they only knew that they kept rising and rising but never finishing. The creature was practically _teasing_ them, never letting up physically but somehow keeping them from coming until it decided they could. The hunter was shivering from both cold and desperation, some of the wet paste on their arms and legs having long dried to a pale yellow powder. They were willing to beg if need be if it meant they found release.

Upon them considering that idea the Amygdala wrapped a finger around their throat. A shape slowly solidified in their thoughts and the hunter distantly recognized it as a rune. It was scrawling, spidery; seeing it was immediately a reminder of the Amygdala’s influence.

They accepted the rune. The shape burned white-hot inside their head, surely inscribing itself right into their hindbrain, a curved carving connecting them to the wayward god.

As they were recovering from the inscription the Amygdala reached some sort of finishing point and the tones in their thoughts reached a deafening cacophony. As the sound slowly quieted the Amygdala let them come practically as an afterthought. The hunter cried out, collapsing forward, lying limp against the Amygdala’s torso as their body was racked with the release. It took their sight returning to them for them to realize that they had temporarily blacked out.

Now able to think with more clarity, the hunter looked themselves over; a right mess, they concluded. Their discarded clothes were torn and stained. Their body was not in much better shape.

The Amygdala lifted itself to its feet; the hunter tumbled unceremoniously from its lap and fell to the ground. Upon landing they groaned and decided not to move. They could hear the Amygdala moving somewhere behind them. It sounded like it was climbing back up the building they had originally seen it perched on.

When they looked back, it was gone.

* * *

 

The good news: The Amygdala promptly descended upon the chapel, picked up all three of the Yahar Gul hunters, and tossed them into Old Yharnam. Good riddance.

The bad news: The hunter then realized that all the other Amygdalae in the village had seen their exchange and were now just jerkin’ it so right. The hunter instantly frenzied from embarrassment and died.

The ugly news: The only other member of the Amygdala Booty Call covenant is Patches and he won’t stop asking the hunter about a threesome.

**Author's Note:**

> More music references! The tritone paradox is a main component of the construction of Shepard tones, in which the pitch of a sound never changes but feels as if it is constantly raising or falling. Tritones were also considered “the Devil in music” due to their dissonant sound when isolated. Referencing it seemed suitably eldritch for a sesh with Amy G. Did I mangle the Greek/late latin via google etymology? Probably yes.


End file.
